


The Worst of Vices

by 1863



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-06-24 09:44:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19721152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1863/pseuds/1863
Summary: Avi runs out of cigarettes, and Viggo gets an idea.





	The Worst of Vices

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: 100 words of smoking porn.
> 
> Chinese translation available here: http://www.mtslash.me/thread-294614-1-1.html

Viggo’s watching him from the other side of the bar. Pours them both a generous shot of vodka — the good stuff, the kind Viggo gets sent over from the motherland with names on the labels that Avi can’t even read, let alone pronounce. 

He takes a long drag from his cigarette, lips slowly curling around the filter, and can’t stop the faint smile when Viggo’s gaze sharpens. Avi looks him in the eye as he opens his mouth and purses his lips, blowing a few smoke rings into the air — perfect circles floating out of his mouth that disappear as they hit Viggo’s inscrutable face. Avi does it again, knowing the movement of his lips and throat are advertising skills that are less about party tricks and more about other kinds of tricks altogether.

But Viggo’s jaw tightens, and Avi lowers his gaze. He knows he’s pushing it, that if he’s wrong he’ll get a bullet in the brain for his mistake, but Viggo’s been pushing it too. For months now, in fact. Getting crowded against walls and cars and furniture; being made to watch while Viggo loomed and punched and threatened. Asked to light his cigarettes for him, the stick already between Viggo’s lips; invited to drink and smoke and who knows what else, right here in Viggo’s own home.

Avi notices all of it. And yeah, he’s an absolute professional and yeah, he’s got a healthy sense of self-preservation — but even he has a breaking point.

Viggo raises his glass. “За ваше здоровье,” he says. There’s something dark in his eyes and for once, Avi doesn’t bitch at him for speaking in Russian.

“Cheers,” he says instead. 

He clinks his glass against Viggo’s and downs the shot in one go, licking his lips as he puts it back down on the bar. And Viggo, the bastard, is staring right at his mouth again, eyes fixed on his tongue as he moves it across his lower lip. Avi shifts restlessly in his seat. Half the time he’s convinced himself that Viggo doesn’t know what he’s doing, that he isn’t aware of the effect it has, but other times, times like this? Avi’s pretty fucking sure that Viggo knows _exactly_ what he’s doing, and he’s equally sure that he’s going to die of blue balls because of it. 

“You want another?” Viggo asks. At first Avi thinks he’s talking about the drink but Viggo nods to the cigarette in his hand. It’s burned down almost to the filter now, nothing left but a column of ash about ready to fall. Avi sighs. What a waste.

“I’m out,” he says. Viggo’s eyebrows rise — just a little, but enough that Avi notices it. “Out of cigarettes,” he clarifies, and Viggo’s expression suddenly changes, goes sharp and calculating in a way that makes Avi shiver.

“I have one left,” Viggo replies. “I confess, I wanted it for myself.” He tilts his head to the side. “But we could share it.”

“No, it’s fine,” Avi says quickly, but Viggo smiles and pulls out a packet from somewhere under the bar, shaking the last one out of the box. 

“I insist,” Viggo says. 

Avi clears his throat. He might be Viggo's right hand man now but he still knows that you never, ever refuse when Viggo insists on doing something. 

“Okay,” he says. “Sure. Thanks.”

Viggo lights the cigarette. He takes a quick puff and starts to hand it over when he stops, looking thoughtful, and pulls his hand back. 

“Oh, I forgot,” he adds. “I’m coming down with a cold. You can’t smoke it like this.” He takes another drag, the lie so obvious that Avi frowns a little, not understanding where this is going. “I wouldn’t want you to get sick.” 

“Okay,” Avi says slowly. “No prob—”

“But you could still share it another way.”

Avi freezes. Surely Viggo didn't mean —

But Viggo’s already stepping around the bench and the next thing Avi knows, he's pressing in close, so close that Avi can feel the heat of his skin through his clothing; so close that he can smell the tobacco and ash on his breath. The edge of the bar digs painfully into Avi’s back but it’s nothing compared to the warm, solid heft of Viggo’s body leaning into him — leaning in but not touching, not quite.

“You know how to do this, don’t you?” Viggo asks. His voice is dangerously quiet.

Avi swallows. “I have… some experience, yeah.” 

Viggo raises an eyebrow. “Just some?”

It could still be a test, Avi thinks. He could still be wrong, and he could still wind up dead in a gutter because of it. But Viggo’s whole body is held taut and there’s a flush on his face that’s got nothing to do with the alcohol, and this close up, there’s no way to miss that his pupils are blown wide open. 

“Enough for what you want to do,” Avi says eventually, and the sudden flare of heat in Viggo’s eyes is so intense that it actually makes his cock twitch. 

Viggo takes a deep drag from the cigarette and holds it in his lungs, still watching Avi with that dark look in his eyes. Avi opens his mouth but his own eyes drift shut and his heart starts beating harder and harder as he waits, and waits, and _waits_...

And then Viggo's fingers curl around his jaw and Avi can't help himself; he opens his eyes again. If anything the look on Viggo's face is even more intense now, and he angles Avi's head and tips it right back before leaning in even closer. Viggo’s eyes bore into his as he slowly exhales the lungful of smoke, right into Avi’s waiting mouth, and his lips are only an inch or two away but the distance is no less maddening for being so small. Avi shifts against the bench as he sucks the smoke in, the instinct to push forward into the heat of Viggo’s body almost overwhelming. 

“Do you want more, Avi?” Viggo asks, when the smoke is gone and there's nothing left but empty air between their mouths, and even less between the lies they're telling and the truth Avi can't deny. Not anymore. 

“Yes,” he answers, embarrassingly fast. “Yes, please.” Viggo's gaze flicks down at that last word, staring intently at Avi's mouth. “What can I say?” he adds, breathless and hoping and hard. “Guess I’m addicted.” 

The ghost of a smile crosses Viggo’s face. 

“Already?" 

Avi licks his lips. "There are worse vices to have."

Viggo raises the cigarette to his mouth again. "Yes," he agrees, and presses his free hand against Avi's hip. "There certainly are."


End file.
